The Dallas daily herald. [volume] (Dallas, Tex.) 1873-1887, 1887-05-27
HOW HILDA MANAGED.
by HELEN FOREST GRAVES.

Saturday Night
Does Mrs Murray live here?"
Mr.. Webb knocked APOLOGIZE, ally on
the glass counter OF the bakery with
The handle OF his whip. 1t seemed
almost a Id ,rty thus unceremonious-
ly to address the gaily attired young
woman who was adding up the ac'
counts behind the tai desk.
lie stood near the door, keeping a
sltarS lookout on the barefooted boy
who was holding his sleepy old horse
Tor had he not heard, many time
aud oft, OF the juvenile New York?
In reply to his respectful question,
the young woman nodded her head
and CURLY answered:
Cup stairs"
"It's pretty big house." said Mr..
Webb, glancing about him. 1.-THE
AIurrays wasn't rich when they lived
down our way; but Rachel never had
good Judgment. l should say, now,
the rent OF house like this"
ut amt house." said the young
woman, speaking with a lead pencil
between her teeth.
"Am't house, eh?" Martin Webb's
honest, onion colored eyes gradually
expanded, until you would have
thought the lids could scarcely con-
tain them. "Not-a house?"
"No; it's flat. Fourth story,
back room. Name OF Murray. Stair
case lust out in the hall there"
Aud so for the first time in his life,
AFR. Webb found himself in the pre-
cincts OF fiat"
He lost his way half dozen OF times
this gaunt, good-humored giant, with
a ham in his arms, two or three
strings OF a country sausage over his
shoulder, and a basket OF red apples
clasped tightly against his breast.
That was matter OF course.
He walked into the kitchen OF one
Gat, brought up IN the parlor OF anoth-
Grand presented himself, smiling, at the
late breakfast table OF third, where
a luc,xless printer, who worked all
night, on the early edition OF a morn
ing paper, was sleepily chipping the
the shells o. an egg.
Call them eggs?" said Martin, con-
temptuously. "If our VOLTS Corners
hens can't beat that ere sort o thing
But am sure ask pardon; guess
I've got into the wrong fiat. P'r'aps
YOU can tell me where lady named
Murray lives?,
And by dint OF many such question
ings and inquiries, Mr.. Webb at last
got himself, MS red apples, nam ana
sausages into a scantily furnished
room looking out on a bare brick wall
"a room where everything had n
starved look, even down to the cat,
which sat intently watching mouse
hole in the wainscoting.
MIS-. Murray, tall, pinched, elder
iy woman, was engaged, through a
double pair of spectacles, in mending
fine laces, but the slow motion OF her
needle, and the uncert ain expression
OF her face denoted no very brilliant
success.
And seated on the window ledge OPP
posite her, ariding habit OF darkgreen
cloth, a beaver hat with dark green
veil twisted around it. and jaunty
little ivory handled whip. was a pref
ty girl OF Is or 20.
Both started at the entrance oil
Mr. Webb, both smiled glad recogni-
ton. ,r.
Why" cried Mrs. Murray, it's
cousin Martini Hilda, give your cous-
in a chair / declare, Martin, L am sur
prised to see you here! =.
NO more'n l to get here, l guess,
returned the farmer, with peculiar
chuckling noise down in his throat.
"These ERE city folks, they do take
the starch outen fellow. Amt
much like our medder flats down at
VOLTS Corner, ehg Here, cousin
Rachel, I've brung ye one OF Eliza
best sugar-cured hams an some
sassaces, and bushel Of the apples
that growed on the tree beyond the
we'll the real, red-cheeked Josey
Moore's you know"
"It's very kind OF you, I'm sure,
said Mrs. Murray. "Hilda, can you
not offer our cousin some refreshments
after his journey"
Hilda colored painfully. How could
she explain to ker mother that The